Part Third: The Hart Subvertant, Chapter 29, Part 1

Chapter 29, Part 1:

Hogwarts Castle had always been beautiful to Emily – not the bright, aerie paradise of white stone and silk banners that was Greenbarrow Castle, but a darker, magnificently gothic counterpart to it. She had stopped many times to marvel afresh at the sight of Hogwarts towering above the glimmering lake as she made the trek from Hogsmeade back up to the school.

But never had the sight been so welcome as when she appeared back on the campus outskirts after Draco's birthday weekend was finally over.

She hurried back up the path and through the foyer and main hall, leaving her Holding Trunk for the elves to take up to her apartments, and headed straight down to the Slytherin dungeons and Professor Snape's office. Her curt knock on the door brought the sound of his voice – Enter.

Ah, there he was, what a joy to come back to that (indifferent, glowering) face. The good Professor was sitting at his desk scratching away in a notebook when she arrived. He looked as though he'd been keeping himself busy with work while she was gone – the round worktable in the centre of the room was absolutely covered with sample jars. He'd also let himself dress more casually while he had the castle to himself – instead of professorial robes, he was wearing plain black trousers and a lightweight pullover of dark grey lambswool, the kind of rather nice hand-knitted thing you could get in Scottish village shops in the summer. Curiously, he had what looked like Muggle medical-lab sample vials on his desk – but given the wide range of esoteric substances he had to use in his work, perhaps that was normal for him, who knew.

"Well, what do you know," she said, planting herself in front of his desk. "I'm not dead."

After a moment, Snape raised his eyes from the notebook in front of him. "My congratulations on your ability to go two entire days without doing something that resulted in your gory demise, madam," he said, with a thin, humourless smile. "Have you any news for me?"

"Do I ever," she said, with a triumphant smirk.

One black brow quirked. "Pray continue."

"Ahem." Emily fixed him with a look, crossing her arms testily in front of her, quirked her own brow back, and silently spoke a word – "Welcome back, Professor, congratulations on a job well done. Please, have a seat. Would you like a cup of tea?" she said, in a Glamoured perfect imitation of Snape's dulcet baritone.

One corner of his mouth tugged upward. "The kudos will have to wait until I've heard what you have to say," he said. He blotted the page of his notebook, closed it, and stood up. Then he crossed to the hearth, threw a handful of green powder into it from a box on the mantel, and called: "If you please, we would like a spot of tea sent down to Professor Snape's office – Earl Grey, and something decaffeinated," he said, presumably addressing the house-elves in the kitchen. "Thank you."

A moment later, he waved a hand at the large round worktable set in the centre of the room, silently speaking a word – and the specimen jars on it leapt back onto the wall shelves, its surface appearing to polish itself to a hospitable gleam – just in time for a gold tea service with two teapots, cream and sugar, and two china teacups to appear in its centre.

"Please, won't you sit down," he said, indicating a stool with arch politesse.

She smiled. "Thank you, don't mind if I do."

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

Snape took the seat across the table, poured out a cup of tea, and passed it to her. The scent was delicious – apple, clove, and cinnamon.

"Thank you. First off – they know that no one was killed in the pub bombing, but I'm certain they've got no idea that I was ever involved in it," she told him, raising the cup to her lips. "Unfortunately, they all seem quite sure that you're still alive, but they don't know where you are. Lucius apparently thinks you're hiding somewhere in Orkney. And get this – there's a group of them who think you figured out the pub meeting was a trap and induced all the Muggles to leave just to thwart Lucius's plans. Lucius thinks it was an open declaration of traitorous intent, but Emmitt Parkinson and Mr. Nott were theorising that it was your way of thumbing your nose at Lucius, and warning him not to trifle with you any further. I didn't get much opportunity to fan the rumour mill in your favour, but I did manage to convince Lucius that you aren't staying at Hogwarts at the moment, and that I didn't have any clue as to your whereabouts."

"Good, keep that ruse up," Snape muttered, pouring himself a cup of Earl Grey. "Because if he knows you're in contact with me, he'll be questioning you constantly, and that could get extremely awkward."

Emily propped her chin on her hand. "But what if the need arises for me to sow some kind of misinformation?"

"Then you can tell him you heard it second-hand from someone else, Dumbledore perhaps. That will also give you some leeway to have been wrong or mistaken, if it's ever proved that you were incorrect."

"Ah, good point. Well, as to the meeting itself, I can't tell you exactly what was said, as I didn't manage to get into the room where it was going on – I only got to watch it from the outside – "

"You watched it from the outside?" Both fine black brows shot toward the ceiling. "And how did you go about that?"

"Obscured myself, hid in the shadows, and peeped in the window, like Puck watching the rude mechanicals at rehearsal," she said, shrugging. "Really, sir, it's not as though I haven't been sent on these sort of fly-on-the-wall reconnaissance missions before – "

"You could have been seen," he interjected, glaring at her.

"Come off it – read your Shakespeare, my people invented stealth tactics," she scoffed. "I was at one with the night, thank you very much."

Professor Snape gave the ceiling a very oh-what-the-bloody-hell-EVER sort of look. "I told you not to fancy yourself some kind of heroine – "

"Oh, please, I've Obscured myself and escaped at close quarters from mobs of Orcs who were looking for me – I think I'm up to the task of spying on a bunch of bloody aristocrats who weren't looking for me and who thought I was asleep upstairs," she retorted. "Besides, if I hadn't done it, I probably wouldn't have heard much of anything, and seeing as how I'm now back here safe and sound taking tea with you, I'd say it worked out fine."

Faced with this evidence, he subsided into grudging silence, and she continued. "At the meeting, it looked as though Lucius was making some kind of combination report and sales pitch to the group, and Druella was raking him over the coals at every opportunity. There were one or two instances when I really thought she was on the verge of just letting fly with a hex, she was that angry. Then they took a break and some of them came out on the terrace, and I heard Druella shouting, 'You don't know what you're talking about – not my nephew!' at Lucius, right in front of You-Know-Who himself. She said she trusted your loyalty more than she did his, and accused him of only being out for himself."

"Really," Snape said, his eyes glittering. "Did she say anything else?"

"They closed the door a second later, so that was all I heard. I'm sorry," she said, shaking her head. "But believe me, your Aunt Druella was practically apoplectic at the very idea that her great-nephew was under suspicion at all – from what I could tell, she spent most of the evening vehemently opposing Lucius right in front of You-Know-Who himself, and he let her."

Snape nodded, smirking. "Good, I'm glad to hear that. Druella is one of the few who could safely intercede for me – she was one of his first supporters, and she supplies a goodly amount of his payroll. She's been a great favourite with him from the first."

"Then some of them had a cigar outside and I was able to overhear their conversations, and they were all talking about you, so I infer from that that the substance of the meeting was a debate about the situation with you. My impression was that this was the first many of them had heard about the pub bombing, and that they didn't all approve of it."

Snape nodded. "Interesting. So it would appear that the murder attempt was entirely Lucius's idea, and not a group decision."

"That was the impression I got, yes. And there's more – I sat in on a little chat between Walden Macnair and some of your students' fathers as well. To begin with, you've got staunch supporters not only in Druella Black, but in Emmitt Parkinson, and to a lesser extent the Messrs. Crabbe, Goyle, Flint, Nott, and Bulstrode," Emily told him. "Parkinson also doesn't believe you've changed sides – he thinks that Lucius is exaggerating things. He just about had the others all believing that you're still on their side as well, when he got done speaking in your favour."

She omitted Emmitt Parkinson's theory as to the source of Lucius's suspicions, as she didn't believe for a second that Lucius wanted Snape out of the way because of sexual jealousy over her, of all people. More than likely, that preposterous notion came out of the notoriously jealous Mr. Parkinson projecting his own sort of motivations onto both Lucius and Snape, and certainly Professor Snape seemed to have plenty of his own ideas as to where Lucius's enmity was coming from.

Snape smiled thinly. "Parkinson's defending me? Well, that's surprising. Emmitt has a longer memory than I thought."

Emily looked at him curiously. "I'm sorry?"

"Nothing. Go on."

"Mr. Nott even confided to Parkinson that he thought the pub bombing was an extremely bad move on the group's part. He says that if you weren't on Dumbledore's side before, you've now certainly got plenty of incentive to change allegiances. And just before he and Mr. Nott went back inside as the meeting resumed, both of them admitted that they very much wanted to hear your side of things as well, and not just Lucius's."

"Did they really." Snape leaned his chin on his hand, still smirking.

"Mr. Flint and Mr. Bulstrode aren't entirely convinced that you've changed allegiances either, based on what their children have told them about your behaviour at school, and Mr. Crabbe and Mr. Goyle don't seem to care if your loyalty to You-Know-Who has wobbled a bit so long as you make good on your promise to write recommendation letters for their sons."

"Yes, that sounds like them," Snape said, stirring his tea.

"Though I remain mystified as to why you'd recommend Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle for anything other than garbage collection jobs, truly. I'm sorry, I know they're both Slytherins and all, but surely it hasn't escaped your notice that those two are dumber than bricks? Why are you writing recommendations for them?"

Snape leaned back in his chair, gazing meditatively down at his cup. "Allow me to answer your question with a hypothetical, Professor," he said, after a moment. "Imagine that you can help overthrow the Baalorite dynasty that keeps trying to take over Rivendale by padding the grades and exaggerating the nonexistent academic achievements of a few Orcish children. Would you do it?"

Emily pondered that for a moment, one corner of her mouth tugging upward. "All right, point made," she admitted grudgingly.

"Thank you," Snape said smoothly. "Did anyone else have anything else to say?"

"Well, Mr. Goyle spent quite a bit of time convincing everyone that you hated Albus and would never support any cause he believed in. He said, 'Snape's hated Dumbledore since he was a boy.' I have to admit, my curiosity was piqued by that – it's always been my impression that you and Dumbledore were quite close friends. It was just... odd."

Snape reached for one of the golden teapots on the table and refreshed his cup, his features set in a thoughtful frown. "Albus and I... have clashed rather loudly over issues in the past," he said. "There are those matters on which he and I have agreed to disagree, and called a moratorium on any further discussion, and that's all I'll say about the matter. However, many of my Death Eater cronies are very much aware of our past differences of opinion, and I often allude to them in order to keep up the ruse that Albus and I despise each other, and I am simply waiting for him to die so I can stake my claim for the Headmaster's position."

He held his cup a moment between both hands before turning back to her. "Now, if you would allow me to interject, madam – you shouldn't have had to try to sneak into that meeting to hear what was said; you should have simply requested that Lucius include you in it. In my opinion, if you had to sneak about the way you described, you're letting them dictate the terms of your involvement too much. They consider you to be the representative of a military power, which means that you're dealing from a position of strength. More than likely, it would have impressed both Lucius and the Dark Lord if you had shown an interest in attending the next meeting."

Emily stared at him, surprised – but then realised that what he said made perfect sense, and was embarrassed that she hadn't thought of the same tactic herself. "Do you really think so?"

"Absolutely," he replied, with a thoughtful sip of tea. "With a bit of persuasion, you could potentially become privy to even more than I could. I'm a poor relation with some useful skills and connections – you're a major potential ally, with all the bargaining power that entails. Not even Lucius or Druella or Parkinson could make him an armed power, so if I were you, I would make sure the price for my cooperation was very, very high. Plus, there's also another advantage you don't seem to have noticed that you could exploit as well."

"Which is?"

"Don't think there aren't any number of men in that group who would like to take Lucius's place in your...affections, as well. Walden Macnair has said in my hearing that – " He stopped, seeming to reconsider what he was about to say – "Well, you no doubt knew about Walden Macnair's roving eye already. I've no doubt that Menzentius Black would probably still marry you if you weren't so averse to the idea – "

"Er, I doubt that very highly," Emily interjected.

Snape's brows creased. "Why?"

"I sort of broke his arm on the afternoon Lucius introduced me to Voldemort," she said, very offhandedly indeed.

Snape stared at her. "You did what?"

She coughed. "Broke his arm. I think I may have blacked one of his eyes as well."

He stared harder. "You've never mentioned that before."

"Well, you know, it's not something I'd put on my résumé." She stared down at her teacup, embarrassed. "However, he admitted to me this weekend that he picked the fight on purpose so Lucius could show me off to You-Know-Who, and then fairly openly propositioned me afterward, so you may have a point."

Snape grimaced. "Believe me, Menzentius's prospects being what they are, he probably wouldn't be dissuaded from a match with a wealthy heiress just because she had broken a few of his limbs. Something you might consider, however, is if Lucius seems inclined to separate you from the real deal-making, you could always appeal to his brother-in-law or another one of your, er, admirers to include you. Lucius holds any number of secrets and financial interests over their heads, granted, but you have to remember, to these men, your people have something of a femme fatale mystique about them. You could use that. You're a widow, and thanks to a certain legal proceeding three years ago, you're a somewhat notorious one in this part of the world, mind. So everyone knows you're not a virgin debutante, if you'll forgive me."

She flushed hotly. "I trust there is a point to all this, and that you'll get to it someday."

"The point is – you would do better to insist on dictating the terms of your involvement yourself, to play on your notoriety, and to use the women's fear and the men's lechery to advance your own agenda," Snape said, quite sensibly. "I'm not saying that you should marry anyone or take on a passel of new lovers – quite the opposite. Think of the first Queen Elizabeth, who remained single and then dangled the possibility of a marriage alliance in front of the Spanish and French royals and various English noblemen, and secured any number of special favours and concessions in the process."

Emily fell silent as she considered his words, then began to nod, recognising the soundness of his logic. "Or Queen Mab back home – she didn't get married till she was eighty. She was just twenty-five when she took the throne, but to hear Gwydion tell it, she had every powerful nobleman and military officer in the Seventh Kingdom eating out of her hand for decades." Damn it all, why hadn't she thought of that herself!

"Exactly my point – I don't think you should let Lucius tell you what to do. And don't be above using your advantages, and playing to your strengths. You shouldn't feel so obligated to put forth the demure, respectable act you do for Narcissa and the other women – they're not the ones whose opinions you need to worry about here," he continued.

"What makes you so sure that respectability on my part is an act?" she asked, with an arch of her sinister eyebrow.

"Oh, let me see if I recall a certain exchange I heard last year correctly," Snape said, aiming his own eyebrows at the ceiling. "'You're a Swain? The Swains are a fine old pureblooded family.' Retorted Lady Swain-Tumnus, 'One that gets purer all the time,' and once they wrapped their brains around the notion that they were being mocked and not praised, of course the ire of the entire tea table waxed exceedingly wroth upon her."

He had a point, and Emily knew it, so she sulked at him. "Oh, quit acting so superior. Even you thought that was funny."

"Perhaps it was... refreshing to hear someone score a point on those harpies Druella and Felina, yes," he said, not quite hiding a smirk in his teacup.

"So refreshing that you almost laughed right at them," she shot back.

"I most certainly did not."

"I saw you!"

"At any rate, remarks like that do tend to be repeated in the Malfeasant set," Snape said, breezing past her annoyance completely. "So between that and the famous etiquette book incident, don't think you haven't already acquired something of a reputation. A word to the wise – if you want some bit of information to get out immediately, be sure that you tell Lucius, Mrs. Rosier, Narcissa, or Elvia Wilkes, and swear them to secrecy. Believe me, that way it will be widely disseminated and accepted as absolute fact within a week."

"Good to know, thanks bunches," she said sarcastically.

"And also, you could certainly demand more concessions from Lucius than you do – he's used to having women demanding things from him, so he would probably find it cosy and reassuring if you did. He's also quite enamoured of you, if he's willing to marry you to one of his own relatives in order to keep you – " the corner of his mouth curled disdainfully – "accessible. I've never seen him do something like try to marry a mistress to his brother-in-law before."

"His son, actually," Emily said, bending over her teacup.

"Excuse me?"

"When I said I wasn't interested in Menzentius, he presented Draco as an alternative candidate," she said, again keeping her eyes on her tea.

"Didn't Draco just turn fifteen?" Snape asked. "I've met a few child brides before, but is that even legal?"

"I didn't say I'd accepted," she sniped back. "It's just on the table, is all. I haven't committed to anything."

"But you haven't unequivocally said No, either, I take it?" he prodded.

She gave him a very oh please sort of look – "Oh, don't even start – I have shoes older than that kid," she retorted. "And besides, with Lucius being who he is, he'll probably either be incarcerated or well tired of me before Draco is old enough to marry anyone."

Snape looked sceptical. "If I had to bet on either possibility, I'd take incarceration."

"Oh, come on, I don't believe any of what he says is really sincere – "

Again, he remained unconvinced. "Really? I was under the impression that he was doing his level best to contort himself as tightly as possible around your smallest finger," he snapped in a fine fettle of irritation. "If you told him that you were starving and nothing could satisfy your appetite but the livers of newborn Eskimo infants, he would probably find some way to serve them up for your lunch."

Emily shuddered. "You're exaggerating," she snapped, glaring at him.

"Madam, you don't know him like I do. I must warn you not to ever underestimate Lucius's controlling tendencies," Snape said, in a deadly serious tone. "It's obvious to me that he idealises you – and there is no doubt in my mind that he is deriving a tremendous amount of satisfaction from the idea that he's seduced you into sharing his cesspool with him. Additionally, to my knowledge you are the only woman who has ever rejected him before he tired of her, which means that his emotional stake in remaking you to his own liking will be very high."

Emily's scowl had grown deeper and deeper as he made this speech, and when he finished, she turned hard away from him, crossing her arms contentiously in front of her. "All right, all right, I get it."

"If you doubt me, I can only tell you – "

"I don't doubt you," she interjected. "I just don't like hearing it."

He grimaced faintly. "As such, you can most likely ask him for whatever favours you like. If he was tired of you but still wanted to keep you as an ally, he would be pushing you to marry some wealthy fellow in our set with a remote estate, as happened with Felina Rosier. If he thought you were useful but a loose cannon mentally, he would push you toward another wealthy loose cannon, like he did with the Lestranges."

Emily scowled again – something about hearing Professor Snape point to evidence of Lucius Malfoy's enduring – regard? affection? unhealthy obsession? – with her rankled tremendously. "Now you're really exaggerating," she snapped. "He's the sort who only values a wife for her breeding potential, and I've told him for years that I'm about as maternal as your teacup. I've allowed him to think that he might have changed my mind, but in truth, he hasn't. Not only that, but he's always been rather disgusted with me for being a Muggle's granddaughter – even if my grandmother was hell on wheels with a True Name, and was a Faery prince's wife and a First Knight's mother to boot."

Snape glanced down at his teacup with a grim little chuckle. "No, the way to know when Lucius is really disgusted with a woman is when he tries to marry her off to me," he said, absolutely matter-of-factly. "I'm rock bottom, you see. He'd been trying to pair Felina up with me for most of this year, which lets me know how far Felina has sunk in his estimation, and how suspicious he's become of me. And Felina knows how far she's fallen with him, because she was actually somewhat amenable to the idea." He turned away from her and again calmly refreshed his own teacup from the pot on the table.

Oh, now that was just vile – for some reason, the idea of that evil rancid whore of a Mrs. Rosier being amenable to the idea of marrying her colleague made her so angry she could taste acid in the back of her throat. "She's having an affair with Lucius, you know," she blurted out. "I saw the two of them together."

Snape looked at her as though she had just told him some old news indeed. "Lucius has been having an on-again, off-again affair with Felina since before either of them were married," he said coolly. "That's been going on for almost twenty years."

Emily couldn't keep herself from shuddering with disgust. "How did poor old Mr. Rosier die, just out of curiosity?" she asked. "Lucius said some Aurors tried to bring him in for questioning, and he was killed after he resisted arrest. Is that all there was to it?"

Snape froze for an instant – and something poisonous flickered behind his black eyes before his composure reasserted itself again. So nearly imperceptible of a reaction, sure to be missed by someone who didn't know him well... but somehow, Emily was left with the impression that she had stumbled onto a very sensitive topic indeed.

"Those are... the facts of the matter, yes." He got up from the table, crossed to the shelves on one of the walls and began rearranging some of the sample jars there. "However, a week before his death, poor old Mr. Rosier – Evan – had confided to me that he was going to take Felina and as much of his fortune as he could liquidate, and leave England forever. So, I've always believed that Felina told Lucius what Evan was planning, and that Lucius then set the Aurors on him intentionally, knowing that Ministry Aurors have never exactly put a premium on taking suspected Death Eaters alive," he finished, his back to her.

Emily stared at him, speechless. "You're joking," she said at last.

Snape continued rearranging jars. "No, I'm not."

"Did Mr. Rosier know about Lucius and... his wife?"

"No," he said, moving a jar of rosemary leaves from beside a vial of dried rue blossom. "And I wasn't about to destroy him by telling him."

"Lucius was sleeping with that creature while she was married... and she betrayed her own husband to his death, and then profited off that betrayal in a wrongful-death lawsuit, all because she preferred Lucius Malfoy to him... " she said slowly, disbelieving her own words as she said them – she could barely comprehend that anyone could do such a thing. "That is... that's unbelievable."

"But alas, quite true," Snape said grimly. "I could have told you when you received your invitation last October that Felina would hate you on sight, when you arrived that first weekend at Malfeasant – Lucius's attentions to her no doubt fell off sharply after you arrived. Additionally, just about everyone in that group knows what you did to avenge your late husband, so given the circumstances of Evan's death, the simple fact of your existence must come as a reproach to her."

Emily's heart had accelerated with rage, her face burning whitely and her stomach contorting itself into a knot of acid. "I could see why you wouldn't have wanted any sort of involvement with her before, but now, I commend you on your excellent taste in not giving her the time of day, sir."

"Thank you," he said, his voice flat and expressionless.

Emily watched the motionless dark silhouette in front of her. "You and Evan Rosier must have been very close indeed, if he confided that kind of information to you. He must have been absolutely certain you wouldn't betray him."

"Yes, I knew him very well – he was my best friend all throughout my schooldays. I was best man at his wedding." One pale hand flexed thoughtfully on the shelf. "The reason he told me what he was planning was because he wanted me to gather up what assets I had and make my escape with them."

"Were you going to do it?"

"Yes."

His tone was very deliberate, almost calm – but there was something coiled under that tight control that made Emily realise that no matter how repulsed she was by Lucius Malfoy and Felina Rosier, her loathing was a pale thing compared to that of the man before her.

"He must have been a very good friend indeed," she murmured.

"He was. And his undoing was that he loved his wife better than she deserved," he said, with pure ice in his voice. "To be perfectly honest, I'd rather swallow poison than allow Lucius to pressure me into bed with that harpy, thank you."

"I don't blame you in the least," she said, with another emphatic shudder. "You know... I was completely wrong before. You really aren't anything at all like that woman, and I'll be happy to help you make certain that she gets what she deserves."

"I... do appreciate that," he whispered. A moment later he was all business again, and crossed back to his seat. Emily leaned over the table and refreshed his cup of tea. "Thank you. Was Druella at all troublesome?"

"No, not really, just a few of those nasty stares on Friday, but then I already knew she despised me from the moment I met her."

"Yes, she loathes part-humans on general principles, like most of the Blacks. She also won't have much use for you because she doesn't have anything to hold over you – the same reason why she and Lucius have always butted heads. She mostly controls people through financial obligations, and the Malfoys are actually wealthier than the Blacks, and as such she distrusts anyone who doesn't need anything from her. Additionally, she's more aware of Lucius's extramarital intrigues than he knows, so be careful of her. Like I said, she's no stranger to having her own wishes carried out."

"I understand. And it wasn't just Lucius who asked about you – Draco asked me if I knew why you couldn't come to the party. And Lady told me she missed you – it was really rather sad."

"Lady told you? The dog?"

"Yes, the dog." She looked curiously at him – "Did I never tell you Deceivre could be used to communicate with animals? I thought I had."

"Er... you may have mentioned it at some point, yes, but perhaps I didn't quite think of all of its various applications until now," he said, his eyes on his cup.

"So Lucius was rather obviously trying to track you down for his own purposes, but I think Draco and Lady just missed their friend and wanted to know how you were. Draco wanted me to ask you to write to him, but I made it sound thoroughly hopeless as to whether or not I'd ever be able to deliver his request."

"I assure you, what he really misses is having someone about to listen to him whine and complain about how all the Slytherins – translated, himself – are treated at school," Snape said, rolling his eyes.

They might have continued this discussion for some time longer, but then Argus Filch's face appeared in the hearth in a puff of green flame – "Er, Professor Swain? Sorry to interrupt the two of yeh, but there's someone to see yeh down in the main lobby, there is."

"Who is it?" Emily asked, coming toward the fireplace.

"Little prissy house-elf, not one of ours. Keeps sayin' she's here to serve the Mistress Emily. And get this – she says Lucius Malfoy's given her to you."

"Oh, yes," Emily said, throwing her hands up triumphantly. "He's done it, he's actually gone and done it. She's safe." She started down toward the main entrance at a quick trot.

"Done what? Who's safe?" Snape got up from his seat and followed her.

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

When Emily reached the staircase landing overlooking the foyer just outside the great main hall, Cecile, her little Malfeasant ladies' maid, was sitting on the bottom step, her shoulders hunched and her hands demurely folded in her lap. The elf was dressed in a little starched black pillowcase, with a clean white crocheted doily draped over her shoulders like a shawl. Close beside her was a lumpy little pillowcase satchel of what had to be her belongings. She looked and acted like nothing so much as a meek little orphan who has found herself packed off to unfamiliar relatives.

"He gave you a house-elf?" Snape asked, appearing beside her in the landing doorway, out of Cecile's sight.

Emily stepped back into the doorway as well for an aside to him. "Yes, I tried to wheedle him into giving her to me this weekend. My word, he's even more predictable than I thought."

"Tried to wheedle him into it? You mean the army of house-elves we have here already weren't enough, you had to have one of your very own?" he chided.

She glared at him. "Don't even start – she was being mistreated, I wanted to get her out of there."

"If she was a Malfoy house-elf, I've no doubt that she was. However – "

"And, she let fall that she was an attendant at some very suspicious-sounding late night meetings," she interjected. "Seeing as how she's my elf now and not the Malfoys', perhaps she'll be willing to tell us all about those little get-togethers."

"Don't be too sure of that," Snape said, folding his arms suspiciously in front of him. "You do realise that she might be a spy?"

"Oh, come off it, you don't know her," Emily protested. "A more meek and mild little creature never existed – she was so pathetically grateful for the least bit of kindness she practically refurbished my entire wardrobe to say Thank you."

Snape looked at her sceptically. "There are plenty of those house-elves who retain a loyalty to their former masters, even after being set free and finding other employment. If you doubt me, go down to the kitchens and speak to a young lady named Winky, who used to serve in Bartemius Crouch's household," he tartly informed her. "It could be that Lucius told her to come here and pretend to serve you, just so he can have a more reliable source within Hogwarts."

Emily looked at him as though that was the most preposterous thing she had ever heard. "They were making her injure herself in the Malfoys' house – perhaps she was glad to leave there," she protested. "Maybe, like so many disgruntled employees, she might be glad to see a family who used her so cruelly brought down, and might want to help us? Perhaps they're just as individual as we are, did you ever think of that?"

Snape shrugged. "The decision as to whether or not she remains here ultimately falls to Albus – and I'm going to recommend that she be questioned under a dose of Veritaserum before she's allowed to stay."

"Oh bloody hell – you and that Veritaserum of yours," Emily shot back. "She's a three-foot, fifty-pound house-elf, for heaven's sake! Sometimes I wonder who's the more paranoid, you or Mad-Eye Moody."

"It's not paranoia when a fellow does have enemies out to kill him, madam – I'm surprised you've forgotten about that, especially in light of what's happened to you?" he pointed out.

Emily turned away, blushing. Again, she knew he had a point, and she sulked by way of acknowledgment.

"So perhaps you'll forgive me if I've become a proponent of more caution rather than less, of late," he continued in a withering tone. "And if you don't mind me saying, your gift is looking rather forlorn down there. Perhaps she could use a kind word from her new Mistress, and a bite to eat before Albus gets back this evening, you make your report to him, and Albus and I interview her."

He took his leave of her with a curt nod, and headed back in the direction of his own office, and Emily went to meet Cecile.

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

Cecile's foxy little face lit up in an enormous smile when Emily came down the steps to meet her. "Miss Professor!" she cried, getting up from the step and practically bouncing up and down like a puppy. "Is it true that Cecile is going to be your elf now? Master Malfoy said I is going to belong to you!"

"Yes, dear, it's true," Emily said.

Cecile ran forward happily. "Yes! I is going to be the most helpful elf for you!" she squeaked, with a desperate curtsy. "Oh, and I has a letter for you from the Master Malfoy – " She reached into her pillowcase and handed Emily a letter:

Darling ~

She's yours. You said you liked her, and you know I'd do anything for you.

On that note, I do hope you'll do something for me. We'll be hosting a small get-together at the house late Thursday night, for the very important guest you met two weeks ago. He would like the opportunity to continue talking to you. Please plan to arrive at eleven p.m. – I'll send a Portkey for you that night. Elegant business attire would be appropriate.

Then, this coming weekend, why don't we meet up at the Cockatrice, Friday at 9 p.m., for a bit of private time together?

I love you so much, dearest – I can't describe how happy I was to be with you this weekend. I can't wait to see you again.

Emily pressed the letter to her heart with an eloquent scowl.

You bastard. By all that's holy, how I hate you.

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

Emily took Cecile up to the sitting room of her own apartments, got her a cup of herbal tea and a plate of little wheat cakes, and sat her down for some time, talking to her about everything and nothing, until the elf seemed reassured. Cecile kept asking if there was anything she could do to clean up, but Emily told her to just rest from her journey for a bit.

Perhaps half an hour later, Dumbledore's face appeared in Emily's sitting-room fireplace in a puff of green flame. "Professor Swain? If you and our new arrival would please come to my office in five minutes' time, I would like to speak to both of you."

"We'll both be right down, Albus," Emily said.

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

Dumbledore was sitting at his desk with Professor Snape leaning on its edge with his arms crossed contentiously over his chest when Emily and Cecile arrived – Merlin attended by Mordred, Emily thought for a moment, watching the two of them together.

"Hello, Albus, welcome back from London." Emily greeted Dumbledore with a warm handshake. "I hope your visit went well."

"It did, thank you," Dumbledore said, smiling. "Welcome back from Wiltshire – I hope your visit went well."

"Reasonably so, I think." She turned toward Cecile, who was following nervously behind her. "Albus, this is Cecile, formerly of Malfeasant. Lucius Malfoy gave her to me this afternoon. Cecile, this is Albus Dumbledore, the Hogwarts Headmaster."

"Sir." Cecile dropped a self-conscious little curtsy.

"Good afternoon, miss," Dumbledore said pleasantly. "Now, if you and Professor Snape will excuse me and Professor Swain for a spell, I would very much like to hear about your visit. In the meantime, Severus, why don't you talk to Miss Cecile, and explain to her what will be expected of her this evening. Emily, if you would please come with me?"

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

When they were alone in Dumbledore's sitting room, Emily made a full report about her Malfeasant visit to him, including an account of Lucius's stealthy attempts to quiz her about Snape's whereabouts, and a description of what she had overheard at the meeting – and glossing completely over the amount of time she had spent sprawled about in various states of undress. She then filled him in on the situation with Cecile, about how she had persuaded Lucius to make a gift of her, and about how Cecile had let slip that she had been an attendant at what appeared to be multiple Death Eater conferences in the last year. "My reasons for asking for her were twofold – I wanted to get her out of there, and I thought she might have some useful information for us."

"Indeed, she might. Severus, however, is extremely suspicious of any new arrival from Malfeasant, as you can probably imagine, and he very much wishes to be allowed to question her under a dose of Veritaserum."

"If he must, he must, I suppose. Shall we get this over with?"

Dumbledore motioned toward the door. "After you."

They returned to Dumbledore's office, where Snape was measuring out three drops of clear fluid into a small cup of water. Cecile was sitting in the same armchair before Dumbledore's desk that Emily had occupied on the night they questioned her about the explosion at the Fusilier, her thin legs and bare feet dangling over the edge some distance from the floor, looking at everyone with large, meek brown eyes.

"Mistress?" the elf squeaked when she caught sight of Emily. "Mistress, can I please be talking to you?"

Emily knelt beside the armchair, Cecile leaned toward her for a nervous little aside – "The Mr. Professor, sir, he just said to Cecile that I has to drink Truth Potion, that will make me tell the truth to all his questions," the elf said. "Cecile is not a liar, I has never lied to the Mr. Professor, or the Mr. Headmaster, I was not even meeting the Mr. Headmaster till today. So I was saying to the Mr. Professor that I is all right with answering his questions without lying even without Truth Potion, but he says I has to be taking it, just in case. Please, Mistress, is Cecile in trouble... ?" Her thin fingers fell on Emily's arm in a timid, butterfly-light touch. "I was trying not to do nothing wrong... I was just getting here...?"

"Well, you see, dear, Professor Snape's questions are very important, and we have to be certain you are telling the whole truth," Emily said, glancing at Snape. "We're not asking you because we think you might be a liar, but because it's imperative that what you tell us is true, do you see?"

"I... think I is seeing," the elf said. "If Mistress says it is very important... " Cecile turned big, uncertain eyes toward Emily, but when Snape handed her the cup, she drank it.

"Now, if you please, miss," Snape began, "I would like to know the exact circumstances of how Lucius Malfoy gave you to Professor Swain today – especially if he gave you any sort of material item, or behaved in a suspicious manner, before he sent you here. Do you recall exactly what happened before you left? Was there anything that happened today that seemed at all strange, or unusual?"

Cecile cowered slightly as she faced Snape, but her manner remained polite and guileless. "Well, he is coming to see me while I is polishing the ballroom floor, after I says good-bye to the Mistress in her room today."

"About what time was that?" Snape asked.

"It was half-past five o'clock, I am thinking... he comes up and says to me, 'Elf, pack your things, you is leaving us.'"

"Is that all he did?" he pressed.

"Well, he was giving me a kick first, to get me to look up and pay my attention, when I is polishing," Cecile admitted, and Emily's hand tightened on the arm of Cecile's chair. "And then... then I was asking, 'Should I be finishing the floor before I is packing?' and he says, 'Yes, finish the floor, then come and see me in my study.' So I finishes the floor, I do, and pack my pillowcase, and then I comes to see him... and he says, 'You is to take yourself and this letter, and then this Portkey will be taking you to Hogwarts Castle, because you is to belong to the Professor Miss Emily Swain now, I is giving you to her as a token of my esteem. Be certain you serves her well, because... '" Her little piping voice trailed off.

"Because... ?" Snape prompted.

"He says, 'Because if I hears she is not happy with your work, you will be wishing you had never been born,' he says," Cecile said, wilting at the memory. "So then I takes the letter and my bundle and the Portkey – the Portkey, it is an old sock, I was throwing it away in a rubbish bin – and I comes here, and I talks to the man with the cat and the push broom, and I waits for the Mistress, and when she comes, I gives her the Master Malfoy's letter, and then – "

"I understand. And how did you feel, when you were told that you were to come to Hogwarts and serve Professor Swain as her elf? Were you angry? Would you have preferred to stay at Malfeasant?"

"Well... I wants not to speak ill of the Master and Mistress Malfoy, I is a good elf... but when Master Malfoy told Cecile that she was to belong to the Mistress Emily now, Cecile was happier than she has ever been before, because the Mistress – " she turned a pleading look toward Emily – "the Miss Professor, she is always being so kind to me, she was helping us when we had to be ironing our hands, and then at the party, she took the needle away, and she said, she is not liking to see me suffer, she said... " Her ears and shoulders drooped.

"Cecile – did Lucius Malfoy in fact give you to Professor Swain, or did he tell you to come here and pretend to be her elf?" Snape asked, looking very stern and intimidating indeed.

"Master Malfoy is saying that Mistress Emily is Cecile's new mistress," the elf protested, "and she is until the Mistress gives Cecile clothes, and sends me away. But I is hoping the Mistress is not going to send Cecile away... I is good and loyal... I is not wanting to go back to Malfeasant... I didn't tell nothing about the Mistress Emily, not about the Healing Potion, not about the pointy knife and metal pullover in the bathroom cupboard this morning, not nothing... " Then she put her hands over her face and dissolved into quiet sobbing.

At the mention of the knife and armour in the linen cupboard, Emily straightened up, electrified. "I left my armour and a dagger belt in the bathroom linen cupboard, after I had to dash right back to my room last night – she could have completely blown my cover, and she didn't, even while she was still the Malfoys' property," Emily said, turning toward Snape. "How much more proof do you need?"

Snape watched Cecile warily, but not as suspiciously as before. Dumbledore glanced between Emily and Snape, then back to the elf before him. "Cecile... I know that your ethics prevent you from comfortably speaking ill of your former masters, but you need to realise that serving Professor Swain is rather more complicated a matter than just mending her clothes," he said in an extremely serious tone. "The Malfoys aren't just cruel to their elves – they are cruel to many other people too, and the three of us, Professor Swain, and Professor Snape, and I, we and a group of others are trying to stop them."

Cecile looked up at him, wide-eyed. "You is all three working to stop them? Stop them and... and... HIM, too?"

"Him?" Snape asked. "Who exactly do you mean by him?"

"He is... him," Cecile said, barely audibly. "The Dark Wizard... the white one... with the red eyes."

"Why are you afraid to speak of him, Cecile? What has he done to make you fear him so?" Dumbledore asked.

"You won't get in trouble for telling us and you won't have to hurt yourself, I promise," Emily assured her.

"Well, my... my sister, Nathalie," Cecile began, in a tiny voice, "I is calling her Natty, since we were little, and she is calling me Ceecee... She is serving with me at a meeting once too, the Master and Mistress Malfoy got us together, back when we is just old enough to be serving, this is years ago, back when young Master Malfoy is just a baby... and he, that wizard, is staying with us. There is a lady staying with us too, who is his special friend, with long black hair and spooky eyes... and she is asking him, Teach me to use it, I want you to teach me... always she is asking him this. So then, he says, I has heard your petitions again and again and it is time for you to learn. We need a subject for your lessons, and he calls Natty over to them. And then he says, This is how it is done, watch closely, and he points his... he points his wand at Natty, and he says Crucio... and Natty is... and the lady, she is laughing, and clapping her hands... " Her face crumpled, her big brown eyes filling with tears.

"He tortured her?" Emily whispered, putting her handkerchief into Cecile's hand.

The elf nodded miserably. "Then... the lady holds up her wand, and points it at Natty, and she says this same word... and... and then she is doing this all the afternoon to her, these are her lessons, this is what she wanted to be taught... and I is just supposed to tend the fire, like nothing is happening... like nothing is happening... "

The other three people in the room were frozen with speechless horror. Cecile cried softly.

"Yes... the lady in question is very proud that she learned the Cruciatus Curse at his knee," Professor Snape murmured finally. "She often boasted of that, when I knew her."

"So then... the lady says, 'Oh, I am tired now, we will have more lessons tomorrow.' And then she says to Natty, 'Be back here tomorrow at the same time, we will be needing you again.' And Natty gets up, and she curtsies, and says, 'Yes, Mrs. Lestrange,' and then they is dismissing us. I is helping Natty back to our cot so she can be lying down, and getting her water, and sponging her face, then... and then she goes to sleep, and I go to sleep beside her... and then when I is waking up the next morning... there is laudanum bottles from the Mistress Malfoy's medicine cabinets... lots and lots of them by our bed, and my sister is... my sister is... " The elf's whole body shook with sobs, and she buried her face in Emily's handkerchief.

"I think I might overdose on laudanum rather than face another day of such lessons as well," came Professor Snape's morose voice.

"All right, all right, enough, stop it, both of you." Emily put her arm around Cecile's trembling shoulders and drew her against her side, then turned angrily back to Snape and Dumbledore. "I'm keeping her and I don't care what either of you has to say about it. If you won't let me keep her at Hogwarts, I'll move somewhere else instead – "

"No, no, that won't be necessary, Professor," Dumbledore interjected, holding up his hand to stop her. "It would be unconscionable to send any elf back to Malfeasant after being released by that family, and I am now convinced that she is no danger to us. After what she has described, I would think Cecile would have more than enough reason to help us see Voldemort brought to justice, rather than undermine us."

Cecile huddled against Emily, nodding so vigorously that her floppy ears wobbled. Emily bent over her murmuring You're all right, I'm not going to send you away. Don't worry, you don't ever have to go back there, and gradually, Cecile's sobs quieted.

When the elf had regained her composure, Dumbledore addressed her in a gentle, cordial tone – "Well then, welcome to Hogwarts, Miss Cecile. We are happy to welcome you. You will soon find that this castle is home to over a hundred house-elves, and our benefits plan is extensive," he said, smiling. "You will have access to full health and dental care, social activities and educational opportunities. We like our elves to be literate and to keep accurate household accounts here, so when school starts again, you will attend classes with our usual elf schoolmistress, Professor Grubbly-Plank. You will also have full use of all the libraries after hours."

"But Cecile is not a Hogwarts elf," Cecile said, in a tiny voice, peeping out from under Emily's arm. "Cecile serves the Mistress Emily."

"Of course. So you can be responsible for your mistress's apartments and laundry while she lives here. Don't worry, Miss, your loyalties will be honoured. Minerva, Poppy, and Filius all have their own family elves who live at Hogwarts during the school year. Now, is that to your liking?"

Cecile gave another emphatic nod. "Yes yes YES." She looked up at Emily – "So I is really staying?"

"Yes, my dear," Emily said firmly. "You is really, really staying." She slanted a look back at Professor Snape, as if daring him to say anything about that. He gave her just a second's sidelong look, as though surprised she had ever thought there was any question.

Snape then straightened up from where he had been leaning against Dumbledore's desk, and addressed both Emily and Dumbledore in a lowered tone. "I think we are all in agreement that Cecile will be staying here at Hogwarts," he said, with a moment's look at Emily – "But you may be aware, Professor, that there are magics by which a person can be forced to behave in a manner contrary to her true nature, and by which her thoughts and memories can be accessed against her will."

He sank down to one knee by the side of Cecile's chair, looking the elf gravely in the eyes. "Cecile, it is possible that some sort of coercive magic was placed upon you before you left the Malfoys' service. If there was, the memory of such could have been modified or removed, so even if you sincerely believe yourself to be acting under your own will, you may not be. Do you understand?"

Cecile nodded slowly, with a worried glance up at Emily.

"If you will permit me, miss," Snape continued, "I would like to temporarily remove your memory of this afternoon at Malfeasant from your mind, so we three can judge for ourselves whether or not any sort of coercive magics were placed upon you before you left the Malfoys' service. It is quite possible that if there was, the memory of such could have been changed, or removed from your conscious mind. Do you understand?"

Cecile nodded slowly, again glancing up at Emily. "Should I be doing this, Mistress?"

Emily looked at Snape over Cecile's head – "You're thinking we should examine her memory of what went on today in a Pensieve, in case they've tried to edit anything suspicious out with an Obliviate Spell?"

"Exactly," he said. "They may be able to fool her conscious mind, but they can't fool a Pensieve. If there are gaps in the continuity of her memory, we should be able to detect them."

"Right, good idea," Emily replied, nodding. "Do either of you gentlemen have a Pensieve handy, then?"

Dumbledore then went into an office cupboard, and retrieved what looked like a large bowl full of swirling white mist, which he set on his desk. Snape drew his wand, then crouched down beside Cecile again.

"Now, I'm going to hold my wand against your temple, and then I want you to think back to the time when Lucius Malfoy came to speak to you, to the time you arrived here at Hogwarts – "

Cecile glanced up at Emily again. "Should I, Mistress?"

"Yes, you should, dear," Emily said, patting Cecile's shoulder. "It won't hurt. The Professor knows what he's doing."

Snape then gently touched his wand to the elf's temple, talking to her in a low, soothing voice. "The time Malfoy came to see you, to the time you arrived here at the castle... " Cecile half-closed her eyes, remembering, and a pale, misty substance began to collect on the end of Snape's wand. A moment later, he dropped the strand of pure memory into the Pensieve.

"Now," Snape said, bending down to address Cecile again, "Professor Swain has told me that you mentioned to her that you had served at some meetings that had gone on at Malfeasant in the last year – "

Cecile gasped, turning to Emily in dismay – "It's all right, dear, you didn't blab about the meetings, I did. And seeing as how you're my elf now and not the Malfoys', you don't have to hurt yourself if you do blab anything accidentally, or even on purpose. As a matter of fact, my first official order as your Mistress will be to forbid you to ever intentionally hurt yourself again, period, paragraph, ad infinitum," Emily said, with a little, imperious arch of her own sinister eyebrow, then glanced back at Snape. "You were saying, sir."

"The Professor told me that you were in attendance at some secret meetings that went on this year," Snape continued. "The substance of what went on at those meetings is very important to all of us here, and as such, I would very much like to be able to examine those memories," the Professor said, holding up his wand again.

"Mistress?" Cecile asked.

"It's all right," Emily said, patting the elf reassuringly.

Snape put his wand tip to Cecile's temple again. "Now – think back to the first secret meeting you attended this year... "

Fifteen or twenty minutes later, Cecile said that she had no more memories of meetings left to give, and asked if it might be getting on suppertime, and if she might be getting down to the kitchens to help with the cooking. The Pensieve was now very full, and Cecile seemed much calmer and more relaxed, her manner and ears perking up as she glanced up at Emily.

"Yes, why don't we take you down to the kitchen, and introduce you around, and you can help with the cooking, if you like. If you please, Professors, I would like the two of you to join me in the Great Hall for dinner in an hour's time," Dumbledore told Snape and Emily. "We have much to discuss."

"Of course, sir," Emily said, and Snape nodded silently.

"Mr. Professor?" Cecile called timidly, "Mr. Professor sir, when you is done with that bowl of memory-stuff, what is going to be done with it?"

"I will return your memories to you as soon as I'm finished with them," he said.

"If it is all right, Mr. Professor, you can be keeping those memories," Cecile said, shuddering. "I is not wanting them back."

"I understand," Snape replied, nodding.

Five minutes later, Emily and Dumbledore were leading Cecile down toward the kitchens, and Snape was heading back to his office, carrying the brimming Pensieve carefully before him.

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

When they reached the kitchens, a male elf in mismatched socks, crazily patterned flannel boxer shorts and a short-sleeved Hogwarts school jersey came up to greet them. Cecile took one look at him, stopped dead, and squeaked, "Dobby?"

Dobby stared at her. "Cecile?"

A second later, the two elves rushed into each other's arms and hugged each other happily. "Cecile is come to Hogwarts!" Dobby cried, sounding thrilled.

"Oh, Dobby, you is all right!" Cecile sobbed. "When I is hearing you caught a sock and was free, I is worrying about you so!"

"They know each other?" Emily asked Dumbledore, over the elves' heads.

"Dobby is another former Malfeasant elf – he was freed through a clever ruse of Harry Potter's two years ago, and came to work for us afterwards. He was similarly unhappy with his place there," he replied, and Emily nodded.

"Mister Malfoy is today giving me to the Mistress Emily – I is her elf now," Cecile said, turning toward Emily with a bright smile. "Mistress, is I to start working right now?" She looked as excited at the prospect as a little girl with a pile of presents at Christmas.

"Er, yes, if you want to. First you can help with supper, and get used to the kitchens, and then tonight I want you to go with Dobby and let him find you a place to sleep and keep your things, and let him show you where the laundries and such are, and just generally do a bit of exploring. Hogwarts is a huge place, and I don't want you to get lost in it." She turned toward Dobby – "Dobby, do you think you can find the time to make certain Cecile gets situated, and show her around?"

Dobby nodded cheerily. "It is being Dobby's pleasure, Miss Professor."

"Thank you," Emily said, with an appreciative smile. She knelt down at Cecile's side and took her elf's hands in hers – "Now don't work yourself too hard tonight. You've had a long day, and I want you to get to bed early and let yourself wind down, all right? I'll Floo you tomorrow when I need you."

Cecile gave another emphatic, ear-shaking nod, watching Emily with shining eyes. "Thank you, Mistress. I is thanking you very, very much."

"You're welcome," Emily replied.